


Handle With Care

by Madiedoodle



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, STeve hangs out a lot at the VA, Steve is a sickly little shit but keeps going anyways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:58:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madiedoodle/pseuds/Madiedoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a bit of a mess, if you ask his doctors. But he's got a strong enough personality to mask it.</p><p>Bucky Barnes looks like a gift from the gods, but he's more of a mess than he lets on. And these two need to take care of each other, through thick and thin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handle With Care

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for Fourth of July, and also because I have issues with fireworks.

Bucky hadn't really known what day it was, when he went out. All he knew was it had been a few days since he had gotten groceries, and he was definitely running low on food. The abundance of flags should have tipped him off, but he just hadn't noticed, not until it was too late, at least. 

The grocery store had been crowded when he got there, but that wasn't unusual either. The crowd did make him nervous, but it was manageable as he got his things and got out of there. It was actually a nice day, if a bit hot, and he was enjoying the walk, until the first explosion started. He hit the deck immediately, curling up small and throwing his left arm, the metal one, over his head. They kept coming, crackling booms that shook around him, and he couldn't breathe. This was no longer home, this was no longer safe, and he couldn't breathe anymore. He looked around for cover, and found nothing. He was out in the open, and he didn't know what to do, and he couldn't breathe. 

He could hear footsteps approaching, and quickly rolled into action, dropping into a defensive stance. The man he faced was small, harmless looking, but that didn't mean anything at all. He had his hands up, making motions to show he was harmless, but Bucky didn't know what to do. This wasn't home, this wasn't safe, and he couldn't breathe. 

"Hey man, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you. I saw you were distressed, I came to help. I'm gonna stand right here, I'm not gonna come any closer. Do you know what day it is?" the man asked, and Bucky couldn't find an answer. Without taking his eyes off the man, he shook his head and the man nodded. 

"Okay, I figured. It's the Fourth of July. Those explosions you're hearing are fireworks, they're not harmful. I know what they sound like, I really do, but they aren't what you think they are." the man said, and the information made sense. But he didn't know if he could trust it, not really. This wasn't home, this wasn't safe, and he couldn't breathe. "They're just fireworks, and they won't hurt you. I know you don't like the noise, but I need you to breathe. Can you do that, can you try that?" the man asked, and he didn't know if he really could. "I need you to take a deep breathe in. And then out. Good good, can you keep doing that?" he asked again, and Bucky started to think he could. The explosions didn't sound quite the same, and he started to think he could believe this man. Just fireworks, they weren't going to hurt him, home was still safe. And he started to breathe. In and out, too quickly, but it was better than nothing. The fear was still there, but it wasn't as paralyzing, wasn't as all encompassing. He started to breathe more easily, and the man started to nod encouragingly. He hadn't moved from his spot, his hands still up where Bucky could see them, and he was grateful for that. Getting a clearer look, he realized exactly how small the man was, and that he could have snapped him like a twig. His breathing quickened again as he realized that he could have hurt the man, and he scrambled backwards and away from him. The man looked startled, but didn't move.

"Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you." he said, and Bucky shook his head. 

"I coulda hurt you." he said quietly, looking seriously at the man. 

“Alright, fair enough, you probably could have, but you didn’t and that’s the important part. Now, I think we should get you inside. I would take you to my place, but I don’t think you want to be in a strange place. How far is it to your place?” the man asked, and Bucky shook his head. 

“No no no, I’m fine, you don’t need to walk me. I can make it home.” he said, his voice only wavering slightly. Each firework brought a hitch to his breathing, but at least he was breathing. 

“I think you could, but I would feel better if you would let me walk you. I’m Steve by the way, Steve Rogers.” the man said, offering a hesitant hand up. Bucky took his hand gently in his right hand, noticing how frail it looked, and barely used it to get himself up. He felt like he should insist on going alone, but he was just too tired. The adrenalin had left him feeling cold and exhausted, and he just didn’t have the energy to argue. 

“Bucky, Bucky Barnes.” he responded, and Steve nodded. Their walk was relatively silent, but companionable. Bucky tensed every time a firework went off, and Steve watched him closely. Luckily his house wasn’t very far away, and they were there within minutes. Once they were there though, Bucky wasn’t sure of what to do. It would be polite to invite Steve in, offer coffee or something, but he was just too tired. Luckily, Steve saved him from having to decide. 

“Alright, this is your place? You sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, and Bucky nodded. Steve looked him over, and he seemed to pass muster because he just nodded. “Alright, I’m gonna give you my number, and if you need anything, call me.” he said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled down his number, and handed it to Bucky, who took it automatically. Steve smiled at him, before turning and walking away, and Bucky watched him go. Shaking his head, he hurried inside, quickly finding his headphones and putting on music to cancel out the noise. 

It wasn’t until hours later that he realized he had forgotten to thank Steve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Two days later, when the fireworks had stopped and he felt safer going outside, he began to deliberate calling Steve. It wouldn’t be hard, he wouldn’t have to talk for long, just say thank you and that was it. But he knew it wasn’t. He would end up inviting Steve somewhere as a thank you, and that would lead to more conversation. But that wouldn’t be too bad, would it? Steve had been nice, and deserved a thank you for not just leaving him in the street in his panic. He deserved a thank you for helping Bucky, even though he could have been hurt over it. 

Bucky sighed and picked up the phone, dialing the number Steve had given him. It rang twice, before Steve picked up, his voice cheery. “Hello, Steve Rogers speaking.” he said, in the most basic greeting possible.

“Umm, hi Steve, this is Bucky, from the other day. I realized I hadn’t said thank you, for helping me.” Bucky said quietly, unsure of himself.

“Oh! Thanks for calling, I was wondering if you were okay. I’m happy I could help.” Steve said, voice still cheery. Bucky smiled to himself. 

“You definitely helped, I don’t really know what would have happened if I had been left to my own devices. Which is why I was wondering if I could take you out to coffee, as a thank you.” he said, and immediately regretted it. He didn’t drink coffee, the caffeine messed with his heart rate and made him feel weird.

“I don’t really drink coffee, but how about milkshakes? I know a nice diner down the street from where you live, pretty quiet place.” Steve said, yet again rescuing Bucky. 

“Yeah actually, that would be perfect.” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. Now he just had to figure out a time. “I have work in the mornings, but my afternoons are free on any day.” he said, and he could hear Steve scribbling on something. 

“Afternoon works for me, so how about tomorrow, around one?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, yeah, that works for me. It’s on me, the milkshakes I mean. My treat.” he said, and Steve chuckled. 

“Alright, sounds good. See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” he said, and then hung up. That had gone better than expected he decided, setting the phone down. Now he just had to figure out what the hell he was doing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky realized that in the light of day, without the perceived threat of bombs, Steve was absolutely gorgeous. He was tiny, but it worked for him somehow. Maybe it was the dorky glasses and the equally dorky smile, or just the niceness that surrounded him, but Steve was perfect. And Bucky was screwed. Bucky was early and Steve was right on time to the diner, and they sat at a table, not talking at all. Steve didn’t seem to mind, but Bucky was trying desperately to figure out what to say. He knew at one point he had been a charmer, but didn’t know how to be charming anymore. That was another time. 

It was Steve who finally broke the silence. “So Bucky, tell me about yourself. How long have you been living here?” Steve asked, and Bucky was relieved. He had been afraid that Steve might ask about why he had freaked out the other day, and that was certainly not something he wanted to talk about. 

“I moved into town about a year ago. Its quieter, smaller, less crowded. I like it here, much better than the city.” he replied, trying to think of something else to add. “But its still close to family, which is nice. How long have you lived here?”

“Fourteen years or so. I moved here with my ma when I was twelve, and I’ve been here ever since. City air wasn’t too good for my lungs, and the move out here helped.” he said, and Bucky wondered what he meant. He decided that asking about it wasn’t a good idea, and moved on from the subject. 

“You’ve been here a long time. Where are you from originally?” he asked.

“Brooklyn, towards Bushwick.” he replied, and Bucky looked up in surprise.

“Really? Thats around where I grew up. What high school school did you go to?” he asked, curious as to if he ever would have met Steve before. 

“Bushwick School of Social Justice.” he said, grinning like he knew it would get a reaction. 

“Social Justice, eh? Neat. I didn’t go anywhere near there. Be’Er Hagolah Institute, actually, in Kings County area.” he said, and Steve nodded. 

“The Jewish school. We went against them in a mathletes competition. I didn’t see you there, so I take it you didn’t do mathletes.” he said, and Bucky chuckled, taking a drink of his newly arrived milkshake. 

“It conflicted with mock trial and wrestling, so I decided I didn’t want to do it.” he said, and Steve nodded. 

“Understandable, mathletes wasn’t much fun. And your school didn’t have a very good team, so maybe you’re better off.” he said wryly, and Bucky was hard pressed not to smile.

“Maybe I coulda brought my team to the top. I am rather good at math, thank you very much.” he huffed, and Steve laughed. His laugh was cute, breathy and sort of quiet, and Bucky wanted to make him laugh more. 

“Sorry for implying, I’m sure you could’ve saved the whole team. Could’ve kicked my ass in math, I was only there for the extra curricular aspect of it.” he admitted, smiling good naturedly, and Bucky chuckled. 

“Never too many extras. So Steve, what do you do for a living? Not math, I hope.” he said, surprising himself with his teasing, but decided to roll with it.   
“Luckily no, no math. I’m an artist, which is how I make most of my money. And I work part time at the veterans center.” he responded.

“An artist? What kind of art do you do?” Bucky asked, intrigued. 

“All kinds of art, but paintings are what sell the most. I go a lot of drawing in my free time though, drawings of anything and everything.” he said, a new light of enthusiasm coming to his eyes. Bucky was fascinated, interested in the passion Steve must have for art. 

“Tell me more about it.” he said, and with that Steve was off. 

“I’ve been drawing since I was a little kid and my neighbor gave me my first sketchbook. I spent a lot of time in bed, or in the hospital, and I never had very much to do, so I drew and I drew and I drew. A lot of my ma, some scenes from around the neighborhood, my neighbors. You name it, I drew it. It started out as garbage, but my ma was proud so I kept on going. She bought be a paint set when I was ten, and I couldn’t stop. Doodled on all my school work, drove my teacher up the wall with it. And it was just something I was good at. Scenery mostly, but sometimes portraits. Commissions and whatnot. When we moved out here I had new scenes, new motions, new things to capture. Doesn’t help much that I’m color blind, but people say the differences add to the charm, so I guess it works.” he added sheepishly, as if he was embarrassed by the differences.

“What’s your favorite piece that you’ve ever done?” he asked, prompting Steve into talking again. He liked the way Steve lit up when he spoke. 

“Oh, thats a hard question. A piece I call Captain America, that ones pretty up there on my list. It’s sort of like a portrait, sort of like a comic piece, its hard to explain. I had Sam help me with the colors, but I like how the lining turned out, and its definitely one of my favorite pieces.” he replied, and Bucky was curious to see it. 

Soon they had been talking for well over two hours, and Steve admitted to being hungry. 

“You go ahead and get something, I’m fine.” he said, and it wasn’t quite a lie, he would be fine until he got home. Steve looked at him suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at him.

“We’ve been here for hours and you’ve had nothing but a milkshake. You have to be hungry.” he said, and Bucky shook his head. 

“I’m fine, I’ll eat when I get home.” he said, and it seemed to click for Steve.

“Oh oh oh, you’re Jewish, this place isn’t kosher. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it.” he said, blinking a few times and looking back at the menu and then back at Bucky. “We can rap it up here then, you have to be hungry.” he said, and Bucky's stomach growled as if to add emphasis. Bucky sighed, not really wanting to leave, but he did need to eat. 

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” he said, and Steve laughed.

“I had a good time too, but I don’t want to be responsible for starving you.” he said, and Bucky smiled. 

“I’ll see you around then? Maybe we can hang out sometime next week?” he said hopefully, and Steve grinned widely.

“It’s a date.” he said, and then walked away, leaving Bucky baffled and standing in the doorway.

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got the reactions from my grandpa, who didn't realize it was fourth of july a few years ago and totally flipped the f*ck out. My grandma knew what to do, and it was basically what Steve did, but it didn't take grandpa as long to listen to her. So there we go.


End file.
